Thortimer — Roleplayer Guild

It was becoming clear that the Knight had become delusional from the events of that morning. There was little point in arguing with the man further. It would only serve to make him appear unstable. But still, the words hurt. Each time it was reaffirmed that his home was now gone, there was another chip at his soul. He still didn’t want to believe it. But the reality of it all kept bearing down on him like those Vicenna mountains as they eroded into nothing. 

A second, far more intimidating Knight approached once Marcus’ travelling companion had finished rambling. Something didn’t feel right about the man, it seemed like latent magical energy were coursing from his body. The source became apparent when he revealed a scepter, one he pried from a fallen bug mage. Marcus’ breath caught in his throat and the hair on his neck stood on end as the Knight presented it. To be so close to an artifact so powerful was practically intoxicating. Maintaining his composure, Marcus addressed the imposing Knight, “That... That is an artifact of extreme and dangerous power. A nefarious thing. It amplifies the power of its wielder by orders of magnitude. It would explain how a single insect could manifest the power to swallow a whole country…” He paused a moment, eying the scepter, almost hatefully, “Vicenna hasn’t wielded dark powers like that since the dark ages. I believe that a creation of blood magics. Take great care with that. It’s said that items like that can drive their wielders to madness. Simply holding it, being in the presence of that evil force may cause corruption.”

He could feel the energies rippling and swirling around it. How many lives were claimed to make an artifact that powerful? He shuddered at the thought. “We must keep that out of the hands of those abominations. It won’t be as simple as just destroying the scepter with force. It needs to be dispelled before it can be dismantled. But with Vicena gone, that will take ages to prepare…”

At least he was promised amnesty for now, from who seemed like their King. He would at least agree to stay his hand from magic, so long as no serious dangers threatened them. As long as they were on Aretan soil, it was in his best interest to respect their customs. Though, strangely, none had though to strip him of his staff. Sure, it was innocuous seeming, looking like little more than a walking stick, but that other Knight at least remembered him wielding it earlier. He didn’t question it; he was just glad that his memento of his former master remained his.
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After what seemed like far too long to travel, they finally began reaching signs of life again. It was almost surreal, to see these people none the wiser that only a day’s trek away was a complete wastleland. They were carrying on as if nothing had ever happened. He could hear the faint play of children in the distance, the calls of various animals. It was such a stark contrast from where they had come from. Is this what the cities of Vicenna sounded like moments before they were swallowed? Had there even been time to panic as everything was consumed around them?

Marcus didn’t have much time to tend to those thoughts as they finally reached their destination. He quickly dismounted, legs wobbly and practically asleep from the journey. He crutched himself against his staff and looked out at the city before them. It was no Vicenna wonder, but it was none the less impressive in its own right. Unlike most Vicenni cities crafted meticulously through magic, this city was made by the blood, sweat and determination of its people. Unlike the general uniformity that grace Vicena, you could almost see the soul of each building crafter shine through its architecture here. It was beautiful in a way.

As the King addressed the party, Marcus was paying keen attention. It would be best if these people weren’t unnecessarily sent into a panic. Their panic would do little against the foes they were facing and would probably only interfere in any sort of defense they might mount against those demons. Marcus nodded to the King in affirmation. He turned back to his horse, stroking once down its neck. Mischief gave a single huff in protest for having been ridden so hard and so long with two men on her back. But beyond that, she seemed to not be any worse for wear.
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